


The Tree

by Proudtobeinvisible



Category: Original Work
Genre: This is cooler than I say it to be I promise, blooms in winter, idk how to tag, theres a storyline I swear, tree - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 05:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12336108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proudtobeinvisible/pseuds/Proudtobeinvisible
Summary: A person looking for a sign, a tree, the coldest day of the year.  Stuff happens. I have no idea how to describe this but its good I swear.Yeah kudos, comment, check out my other works. If you like this one you might like The Questions of an Almost Outlier my other work :)





	The Tree

 

Once upon a time, there was a tree. 

 

The owner of said tree thought it was dead. For it had not been able to flower for many generations.  But strangely enough, no one of his ancestors had made the move to cut it down, even though they complained about it until their dying day.  Such a strange magic, that tree was.  

 

And the tree had one thing to watch for everyday, there was someone who walked breaking the monotony of jogging trophy wives and cars that made its job all the harder. This one was a student.  Always tromping by in heavy boots or sleek mismatched converse crunching on fallen leaves.  Or a thick coat spread over broad shoulders to keep the chill out.  They were always interesting to watch, singing softly to themselves or just basking in the weak winter sun.

 

The tree noticed a lot of things.  Especially about this person.

 

Like how they had new books in their hands from the library even though their backpack was always heavy with preowned textbooks that hurt their back. 

 

Or how their hands were that of a writer.  Covered with ink splotches or words they did not manage to capture on paper. 

 

But what seemed most importantly, the tree noticed— 

 

This person was sad. The type of sad that ended people's life. The type of sad spoken about in hushes and whispers. A curse never to be spoken aloud because the fear of it to be caught. Something that made them a ’such a shame’ conversations with people who knew of them, but not personally. 

 

This person's sadness had a cause. One they knew, but held on to. And one the tree knew as well.

 

The tree was always passed by without another look, while the tree watched. 

 

Waited.  

 

Until one day, the person was walking and begging whatever higher power there is to fix them. To 'take this wrongness, this monstrosity made of me' and make it better. They begged, and they wished, and t _he_ y whispered. 

 

They asked for a sign. 

 

Anything. 

 

The next day, the person still had not gotten their answer.   Wanting to give up on what they knew. 

 

But the tree was there. And different.

 

Leaves and flowers of all kinds has sprouted on the tree. 

 

And the boy stood there in shock. The wind picked up, knocking some of the leaves and flowers off the tree.  A flutter of his miracle all around him.  Proof. 

 

He had known all along that the tree was dead. But here, but now….

 

Seeing it with life rip through its branches, to see the impossible possible.  His god-made miracle of plants. 

 

The owner of the tree came out, greeting the girl standing in shock. 

 

"Miracle it's alive huh?" The owner asked, hands on their own hips. Shivering slightly because it was the coldest day in winter, and they didn’t have a thick coat. "I was just about to cut it down, now I guess I can't."

 

This was impossible. It's the middle of December, couldn't the owner see that? This tree should not bloom in the coldest days!  It should be bare, bones, a reminder of a tree.  Not the living embodiment of the perfect one!

 

"Yeah, you can't cut it down." He responded, his dress billowing in the wind. He should have shivered, but his thermal tights kept out the cold well enough.

 

"Have a nice day young lady!" The owner said cheerfully as the boy continued walking to his home. 

 

"You too." He responded automatically. 

 

The tree puzzled him, how could this be? Trees don't bloom in winter....

 

This was his sign, he knew it. 

 

But why like this? 

 

But why now?  In winter?  
  
When they did not have a chance a living?  
  
But here, despite all the odds.  Life was within their reach.

 

Walking home in a daze the boy stopped once he entered his house. Alone because his mother and father and sister were out doing their own respective business. 

 

He raced to the bathroom, needing to look at himself.  

 

He had hoped by some monstrosity of a miracle his body would have changed.  He would have been born in a universe where he was what he was.

 

But he was still greeted with a sickeningly feminine body.  Still greeted with plush pink lips, still greeted with long cross between light and dark hair, was still haunted with his female body.

 

He wanted to burst into tears, take the sadness that ended lives and use it to end his own. He saw it all within his reach, his end. His new beginning, all he had to do was _touch_.  

 

But upon closer look he saw a leaf had fallen into his hair.  And the closer he looked, the more he saw.

 

He saw a boy, broken but repaired.  Scars fading and bruises darkening.  

 

He saw the miracle he was, the monster she was.  He saw the possibilities of his life, he saw the darkness, and the light. 

 

He saw the promise of dawn in the darkest of nights.  And the reminder of the darkness in the day. 

 

He saw the possibility of a man, one who grew into an old age with the love of his family.  Or he saw the despair of having lost them, but gained a new one. 

 

And with that, the young boy was saved.

 

By a tree that only bloomed one day of the year, the coldest one.  Its life still within reach as the other trees gave up.

 

And the boy, he saw his own life, his own happiness, despair, hope, love, hate, darkness and light.  All within his reach, his grasp.  He didn't register it, but teardrops dripped like rain from his face. Washed his face in a burning baptism. A crucifixion of crying. Three days in heaven and three days in hell in a single agonizing, rapturous moment in the bathroom. 

 

All he had to do was reach out and _take_.

 

So he did.

 

He renamed Madison to Alexander.

 

He reached and took his life.

 

He, I create my perfection, and it is all within reach.

 


End file.
